Mojo's Funeral
by a-closet-fan
Summary: There's nothing quite like a funeral to bring a city together. Oneshot.


**A/N: **As a warning: 1) I aged up the professor and mojo substantially; 2) if you read between the lines, there is implied child abuse. 3) unsurprisingly, I did not really edit this for grammar, so I'm sorry in advance for any of the mistakes.

Reviews and faves always appreciated!

* * *

The three of them were extremely hung-over. Well actually, Butch wasn't. A person couldn't be hungover if they never stopped drinking, and even if he was hungover, it still wouldn't have stopped him from a good day drink.

So, two of the brothers were extremely hungover, one was drinking, and they were all sitting on a not-so-random rooftop watching the building across the street.

They weren't the only ones either.

Today, the city of Townsville was eerily quiet and the air was crisp. No cars. No foot-traffic. Not even a rat. The only noise came from the rolling trash that littered the alleyways, but even that felt muted. The funeral home across the street, decorated as much as the city was willing to pay for, stayed as silent as the dead inside.

No one was going to make a move. Not yet at least. The others lied in wait in the shadows, around the corners, in the buildings. Everyone just waiting, as the seconds slowly ticked by.

Butch took a swig from the bottle he was nursing and sighed. Brick puffed his cigarette, and Boomer rested his eyes; their headaches were pounding.

The wait didn't bother the three brothers. What must have felt like a long wait for the others lying in the shadows, was nothing compared to the waiting the young men had already done. This day had been twenty-something years coming. They could wait a little longer, it had never bothered them before. Though, between the three of them, it had been collectively agreed that this day could have certainly come quicker.

Still, it had been a nice surprise when they had all finally received the call informing them that something wonderfully tragic had happened.

* * *

Boomer had made it to the bar first. He lived north of California, traveling between Oregon and Washington. Sometimes Alaska. If anything were to be assumed, Boomer could be found in the north-west region.

He liked the colder weather. He liked the cities there (especially Portland) and the people. He'd travel from place to place with his guitar and his lone hiking pack strapped to his back, meet the most interesting people, and work the oddest jobs. Nothing about it was stable, but he didn't like being tied to one place for too long. If things got a little too serious, he'd wake up early and disappear into the woods for a few weeks, eventually emerging near some new little town he'd rush off to explore.

The flight back down to Townsville had been quick, and he had dumped his stuff in the little run-down motel room Brick had booked for them. It had been about two years since he had seen either of his brothers, but cellphone service depending, he talked to them about every other week.

The last time they had all been together was down at Butch's place when Brick's work had brought him to the area. What for was classified information, but that hadn't stopped Brick from pulling both of his brothers into it. Boomer's memory of that trip was rather vague though, and he honestly wasn't really sure what line of work Brick had gotten himself into, but he was absolutely certain it had been a good time.

Boomer continued to nurse his beer while he waited and sighed. As happy as he was to be around his brothers again, he hated that it had to be here. The reason why wasn't so bad, but Townsville sucked. It was the first time he had step foot in this town since they had all left about fourteen years ago.

A lot of bad memories in this place.

The door to the bar was kicked open and the dark-haired guy that strutted in pushed his sunglasses up on top of his messy hair. His mean eyes scanned the room; first, assessing the other pieces of shit that had slinked their way into a bar during the middle of the afternoon, and then, Boomer.

Butch's mouth split into a wide smile and his eyes lit up, "Boom!"

Boomer couldn't help but smile back and stood up to greet his brother, "Butch!"

Butch grabbed him by the neck and ruffled his hair, "Sup mountain man! Look at you, you even showered!"

Boomer laughed and pushed him off, "Special occasion!"

Butch was probably one of the meanest looking motherfuckers a person could ever meet. His stature alone made it look like he had done hard time, which he had, but that wasn't the point. He had a little place down in New Mexico where during the day he worked as a mechanic. During the night, Boomer didn't want to know what this guy got mixed up in.

Nothing horrible though from what he could gather when Butch called. Grand theft auto, drag racing, fights, light stuff compared to what they used to get involved in. Still, the less Boomer knew the better. He wasn't worried about Butch though; it wasn't like he would get caught.

Butch pointed to Boomer's basically finished drink, "Let me buy you another one."

"Really? Okay." Boomer smiled, "When did you get rich?"

"Pfft," Butch rolled his eyes nonchalantly and hit his brother over the head, "I'm not, but I'm makin' more than you and like you said, it's a special occasion. Whatcha' drinkin'?"

"Whatever you're willing to pay for." Boomer shrugged, not willing to argue away a free drink.

Butch ordered them a round and they sat there catching up. It wasn't until Butch moved to order another drink when an arm shot between them holding a credit card.

"Open a tab. Put this round on me." Brick demanded and smiled when his brothers turned around happily surprised.

"There you are asshole, you're fuckin' late." Butch laughed and clapped his older brother's back.

"Had a run-in with a storm over the Pacific when I was flying in." Brick shrugged, "What? Did you think I'd actually miss this?"

Boomer laughed, "Nah, but the Pacific Ocean?"

"I had business in Taiwan."

"What do you do for work again?" Boomer asked curiously, as Butch gulped down his drink.

Brick smirked, "Don't worry and shut up about it, Boomer. You don't know who's listening."

Butch shook his head amused, "Forget about that. Take a seat. What the fuck have you been up to these last two years."

Brick took his seat between his brothers and leaned back thinking, "Well, I—"

"—Butch had a pregnancy scare!" Boomer blurted out, interrupting.

"Hey!" Butch yelped, eyes going wide, as he reached around Brick to sock Boomer in the back, "I told you to shut the fuck up about that!"

"Sorry! I couldn't hold it in any longer!" Boomer exclaimed, with mirth in his eyes.

"You got someone pregnant." Brick gaped.

"Almost. I almost got someone pregnant." Butch corrected, "Thank god I didn't. That bitch was crazy."

Brick shook his head and rolled his eyes, "Jesus Christ. Please. We don't need any more bastards like us in this world."

Butch lifted his drink into the air, "Aight', I'd drink to that."

Boomer laughed and brought his drink up too and they both waited for Brick, who reluctantly clinked his glass together with theirs.

"You're both dumbasses." He chided, but nonetheless took a good, hearty sip of his drink.

Eventually, two hours had passed while they sat in that bar talking and avoiding the elephant in the room. They fell quiet when the conversation finally hit a lull and sat there flakily immersed in the football game the shitty tv over the bar had on.

It was Boomer who broke the silence first, like usual.

"Sorry," He started, not really understanding why he felt the need to even apologize, "but is he really dead?"

"You got the call, didn't you, dumbass?" Butch snorted into his drink, but the way his eyes jumped around the room betrayed his air of confidence.

"He's dead." Brick said flatly, agreeing with Butch.

Boomer fiddled with the lip of his glass, "Yeah. I know, but…" he trailed off rubbing his face, "I don't know. I guess I feel guilty."

"For what?" Butch scowled, glaring at the tv.

"I guess 'cause he died alone."

Butch scoffed, "The good-for-nothing, motherfucker did that to himself."

Boomer put his hands up in surrender, "Yeah but—"

"—but what?" Butch interrupted, now turning his glare in Boomer's direction, "You actually got something nice to say about that asshole?"

Boomer opened his mouth and then quickly closed it. Not because he was intimidated by Butch. He didn't care about that, but because he honestly couldn't think of anything to say. And that was a first for him.

There was a lot of bad blood to think through.

Butch satisfied with the lack of an answer, turned back to the bartender, "Can we get a round of shots over here? His tab," Butch emphasized, pointing towards Brick.

Brick didn't argue and accepted the shot. He sipped at it gingerly, before placing it down on the bar.

He cleared his throat and turned to look at his brothers, "The only good thing I can think of is, Mojo, for all his faults, was admittedly a genius. But, what else _can_ you say about an ape like Mojo, huh? For all his bolster and big-talk, he was a shitty dad. I don't even think he remembered a single one of our birthdays."

"He hardly remembered my name!" Boomer exclaimed, slamming the finished shot back on the table.

Butch shook his head. "Why didn't we off him ourselves." He asked, before bringing his bottle to his lips.

"Because he was our dad?" Boomer asked skeptically, setting his empty cup back down and ordering another.

"Nah," Brick shrugged, eyes still on the game, but his voice was somber, "because he wasn't worth the energy."

The other two nodded in agreement. For a moment, they were quiet, all stuck in thought until Butch laughed and ordered another round. He leaned in close to his brothers with mischief in his eyes, while he sang, "I think I just thought of a fun little game."

"Yeah?" Brick smiled lifting the drink up to his lips, but Butch stopped him before he could drink.

"Yeah," Butch agreed, "It's a drinking game."

Brick put down his beer, "Sure. Rules?"

Butch cracked his knuckles as he explained, "Each of us explains how Mojo fucked us up the most. The person who had it worse is safe, the others have to drink. If we can't agree we all drink."

Brick let out a low whistle.

"We'll be dead by morning!" Boomer laughed.

Butch grinned, "Yeah dumbass, that's the idea. Come on don't be pussies."

"Okay, okay," Brick shrugged and then motioned for them to lean in close, like they were conspiring against the world, "I got one. I'll go first."

* * *

Finally, a noise. Boomer cracked his eyes and tilted his head with interest. Brick stomped out the burning bud and Butch put down his bottle. They watched the road and the car that was coming down the street.

It was an old, white Volkswagen. Butch knew the year of the model, and if there wasn't this unspoken rule of silence, he would have told his brothers what a fucking dinosaur that car was. He would've also told them that the car was desperately due for an alignment, but any asshole with a brain could piece that together.

The old car came to a stop right outside the funeral home they had been watching, parking along the curb. The driver door opened and a dark-haired woman made her way out.

She was still tall and her hair was still short, but she was older now and dressed smartly for the occasion in a blank pantsuit and large sunglasses. She made her way around to the trunk after she had finished surveying the "barren" streets. Popping it open, she pulled out a wheelchair and walked it to the front passenger side door.

One of the doors opened to the back seat. Another woman with long, braided red hair stepped out and helped with the wheelchair, while the first woman carefully helped an old man sitting in the front out. She was also tastefully in black, with a freshly pressed button-down and a pencil skirt. As they lowered the greyed man into the chair the dark-haired one broke the silence.

Of course, a normal person wouldn't have known that. A normal person would have never been able to hear what she had said from the distance the brothers were sitting at, but the three young men on the roof were obviously exceptional.

"Hurry up." She directed towards the back seat, "We don't have all day."

"Are you comfortable?" The redhead asked the old man.

He patted the woman's hand that had come to rest on his shoulder, "Yes dear, thank you."

"Here," Sunglasses handed over a blanket, "wrap up in this. Was it supposed to be this windy?"

The redhead's eyes darted to the skyline and then back to the other two, "It was supposed to rain."

Sunglasses snorted, "Too bad. It would have been fitting."

Brick would disagree. He felt the sunny weather summed up what he was feeling pretty well.

"At least, we still have some sort of waterworks." Sunglass continued, gesturing to the backseat.

Finally, first, a bundle of flowers and then, the third woman made her way out of the back.

"Oh, hush." The blonde in the simple long black dress sniffed, "This is a funeral."

Boomer noted with amusement that the blonde wore a purple scarf, which flapped freely like a cape in the wind. He wondered if she had done it on purpose since she had always been the most sentimental out of all of them.

The family of four, with Sunglasses pushing the old man in front of her, made their way towards the entrance of the funeral home. And with that, the Utonimus, or better yet, simply the Powerpuff Girls had arrived as immaculate as always. The wait was almost done.

* * *

It had been years since they had last seen them. Of course, that didn't count tv. Seeing them again, in person, was almost as nauseating as setting foot back into this trash pit of a city. Butch swallowed as an array of fleeting thoughts, feelings, and emotions surged up from the pit of his stomach all at once. It was either that or the alcohol was hitting him the wrong way.

Brick cleared his throat and Boomer once again screwed his eyes shut.

It had been agreed that today wasn't about whatever had been left unsaid and undone with _them_. This was about a funeral and they'd respect that. All of them.

The family walked out a little more than twenty minutes later. Bubbles was no longer holding the bundle of flowers. Her arm was linked with Blossom's as they walked back to the car. Occasionally, she would dab at her eyes with a tissue.

Buttercup walked behind them as she continued to push Professor Utonium. The old man looked like he was nodding off and Buttercup reached down to fix the blankets slipping from his lap.

"Almost there Prof. Don't fall asleep on me now." She smiled gently.

Butch crinkled his nose. It didn't matter how old they got; it had always felt weird seeing her act so nice.

When they got to the car, they began the careful task of setting the sleepy man up into the car comfortably. As Blossom and Buttercup worked on that, Bubbles turned back to the funeral home.

"I wish we could stay." She muttered sadly.

Buttercup huffed slamming the trunk down and ignored her, "Why did we let him talk us out of junking this piece of crap?"

Blossom rolled her eyes and put a hand on the weepy blonde's shoulder, "It's not our place. You know that."

Bubbles sighed one last time before sliding into the backseat, as Buttercup leaned on the car watching Blossom.

She spoke up nonchalantly, "Can't believe he's actually dead."

"Buttercup!" Blossom chided.

"What?" Buttercup snorted, flipping her sunglasses back over her eyes, as she made her way to the front seat, "Admit it. It's weird."

Blossom almost smiled, but stopped herself at the last second and instead said, "Makes you think."

Boomer couldn't actually see if Buttercup was, but he had a feeling that, like Blossom, her eyes drifted to the sleeping Professor in the front seat. He could hear her frowning when she agreed, "Yeah."

The two sisters paused for a moment and looked around.

"Suppose we should get this over with." Buttercup muttered and Blossom shook her head, then a little louder, probably louder than necessary, Buttercup said, "Hey Bloss. Why don't we take the day off to spend some time with loved ones?"

The question sounded robotic and rehearsed, so much so that Buttercup didn't even wait for Blossom to respond before she got back into the car.

Still, Blossom played her part just fine without the other performer, "A day off sounds just fine. But we'll still be here if there's an emergency!"

She stood for a moment and stared at the surrounding area before repeating herself, "It would _only_ be for the day."

Then, she looked directly over at them and Brick almost smiled. Of course, she knew. They always knew.

She nodded once and turned away.

Brick didn't know if the nod was directed solely to them, but he figured it didn't truly matter that much. It had happened quickly and quietly, then she got in the car, they left, and life continued on. There was no time to mull over the interactions ever little detail. It wasn't about them.

Today was about a funeral and that would be respected.

The girls had given the okay, which meant the wait was finally over.

* * *

They came out of the woodwork, the sewers, and the dark, slowly after that. They crept along towards the funeral home and squinted in the sunlight like they had never seen it before. Living nightmares, crooks, thieves, murderers, gang members, they all slowly approached. Some even came bearing gifts, but all of them took shaky steps, doubting whether or not it was truly safe to emerge until finally, the first batch of criminals had made it safely into the funeral home.

It was faster after that. They all poured in till a real crowd was spilling out of the building. Even innocent citizens mixed in with their foes to get a look at what people, monsters, and the mutated had thought to be impossible.

The brothers remained on the rooftop.

Butch snorted, it was the first time they had made a sound since arriving a few hours earlier, "Wouldja' look at that." He shook his head and took a sip from his bottle, "This is what he always wanted. A nice big crowd and all he had to do was die."

Brick's mouth twitched with amusement, "That's how it always happens. People don't know what they have till it's gone." He took a drag from a new, freshly lit cigarette, and shook his head slowly, "Too bad this is a different sort of situation. More like a train-wreck."

Boomer didn't take his eyes off the crowd, "If he saw this, he'd think he was one of the greats."

"Too bad." One of them muttered. It didn't matter who, it just mattered that it was true.

They continued to watch from the rooftop taking in the new and the familiar faces that formed the crowd below them. It was easy to parse out who was important and who wasn't.

"It's crazy," Boomer whistled, taking in the villainous royalty, "how they're all still here."

"Does Townsville ever change?" Brick scoffed, stomping out a cigarette and chain-smoking the next.

They watched as Medusa, with her Botox-chiseled grin, strutted around surrounded by her ever-present boy toys; how the Gang Green Gang glared at her from afar, still acting like they were the ones who ran the streets, after all this time; and how Princess pulled up in her mile(s)-long stretch limo and wouldn't get out until her lackey's had placed down a red carpet.

And all three of them felt their hearts slightly quicken, as HIM appeared in a cloud of red mist, properly dressed in mourning attire. They watched the demonic entity dab at crocodile tears, as it hid its' grotesque smile behind a hanky. A horrible reminder that they still had one "parental" unit to worry about.

Butch spit on the ground in disgust. A small protest, but big enough to get the point across.

Small and large, everyone who was anyone eventually arrived at the funeral home. Boomer had even amusingly pointed out a greyed Fuzzy Lumpkins, who looked incredibly uncomfortable and out of place in the large city crowd.

Truly this was the event of a lifetime. It was just too bad they had to participate in it.

* * *

Leaving Townsville had to of been one of the easiest and best things Brick had ever done in his life, and he was under the impression that his brothers would easily agree with him. It had been a sudden split decision. There was no rhyme or reason, just one day they had all decided enough was enough, and they left. There was not one goodbye, no 'please come back', and certainly no departing tears.

Sure, he had a few regrets, but none were pressing enough to make him want to fly back.

Then, he got the call.

Some lawyer, or maybe an official with the city or jail, who knew, he certainly didn't care to know, had informed him that the monkey was dead.

Good riddance, he had told the unfortunate messenger.

The person on the other end said nothing in response to the comment but continued on with the statements they were required to say. They told him Mojo's estate had run dry, that he had a substantial amount of debt he owed the city, and had he had personally requested the brothers would be the ones to lower him into the ground. Moments later, after that particular call had ended, he was on a two-way conference call with Butch and Boomer.

As he had figured, eventually, much like when they were younger, after the arguments and conversations had finally boiled over, his brothers left the decision to him.

He gave zero fucks what the city wanted to do with the estate and there was absolutely no way he or his brothers would ever deal with whatever debt Mojo had left behind, that much had been obvious. The real question was whether or not they would perform Mojo's last dying and frankly, unnecessary request. The monkey had always been good at providing them with _fantastic_ inconveniences.

But the idea of not going, like Butch had argued for, had made Brick pause. Maybe, Mojo still had more control over the brothers, then they let on? Maybe, Brick just needed the closure? But there was something almost cathartic about the idea of seeing Mojo's dead body being buried in the dirt.

So, ultimately, he had decided they go and whatever the reasoning behind the decision was, he chose not to think about it.

Now, he stood on the roof across from the funeral home mentally debating whether or not he regretted that decision. He took a long drag from his cigarette and noted that his supply was only getting smaller and smaller. He just hadn't figured being back here would have made him feel this…well, he would have never figured he would have been this affected by…?

He sighed out loud and snuffed out another bud.

This just wasn't what he thought it would be like.

It probably was the number of people, the familiar faces, places, and smells. Brick had spent years bottling the memories of this city and pushing them far back into the recesses of his mind, so much so, that he should have known better than to think that his avoidance tactics wouldn't have backfired on him should he have ever returned.

The brothers watched as the more important villains disappear slowly into the crowd, as they fully pushed their way into the building. When the crowd grew quiet, and the ceremony was well underway, Brick decided it was finally time to make their appearance known.

He cracked his neck and looked down at his lounging brothers, "It's now or never."

Boomer nodded and stood, and they both turned to look down at Butch.

He took a long sip of the handle he had been nursing all morning and studied the concrete of the roof.

Finally, as a weak last-ditch effort to thwart the plans, he spoke up, "You know, it really could be never."

They smiled at him, but didn't respond, so with a heavy sigh he also stood and the three of them turned fully together towards the building for the first time this morning.

"It's really happened." Boomer mused out loud, no longer letting his brothers appreciate the silence. Then he grimaced, "God, you don't think HIM will want to take family pictures, do you?"

Butch scowled, as Brick snorted, "They'll leave us alone. It is a funeral after all."

* * *

Butch's shoulders were tense and no matter how much alcohol he consumed; the tension never seemed to release. He hated Townsville. He hated how everyone in the city looked at him and his brothers like _they_ were the monsters. Hated how they had treated a bunch of kids, who were forced to live in the woods, off nothing, like _they_ were the problem. This fucking city and the people who came with it weren't worth shit in his mind.

He glared, as a genuine hush fell over the crowd that engulfed the building when he and his brothers strolled towards the entrance. It actually almost made him feel good that the crowd instinctively dispersed to let them through; that there was terror in their movement, as they realized exactly who the three young men were. If the world had decided that the brothers would be feared, Butch would gladly give them something to cower away from.

It was only fair.

He led his brothers through the crowd towards the door, bulldozing through the idiots stupid enough not to get out of their way, and kept a steady grip on the neck of his bottle. With a sneer, he threw open the heavy doors and the ceremony inside came to a sudden halt.

The crowd inside, the "important" fucks, all turned in unison towards the interruption, and with satisfaction, he took in their surprised looks.

'Ah, yes,' He so desperately wanted to bark at them, 'the Rowdyruff Boys_ were_ fucking back you, absolute, cunts!'

But he stayed quiet, instead choosing to glower, settling on just giving them all one of his most sinister stares. Behind him, Brick sighed, and after flicking away the last of his cigarettes, shoved his hands into his pockets and walked down the aisle. Butch and Boomer followed as they made their way to the pretentiously elaborate box Mojo had decided to stick his decaying, disgusting body in.

They ignored the stares that bored into their backs and the stuttering man who had been elected to speak. Together the three brothers approached the casket and stared down at their maker.

Butch frowned in disappointment. The monkey didn't look anything like the picture of mutilated horror that Butch had been fantasying about. Neither did he look scared or regretful that his life had come to an end. Instead, besides looking a little paler than usual, Mojo laid there peacefully, like at any moment he'd wake up from a long nap.

Somehow this was the worst possible scenario. Butch scoffed and took a swig of his drink because how dare the creature that made him and his brothers lives so miserable get off so easily. Honestly, they really should have just killed him themselves. It would have been much more therapeutic.

"Open casket." Brick finally muttered with a slow shake of his head, "Of course."

"He really went all out." Boomer noted looking around at the massive number of flowers that littered the room and nudged the small bundle of flowers sitting next to him by the casket with his foot. The same ones that he had seen Bubbles carry in. They were sweet and simple compared to the rest of the mess that surrounded them. It almost made him smile. Too bad he knew Mojo wouldn't have appreciated them.

Butch, who was on the brink of deciding that desecrating a body wasn't below him, huffed and placed his bottle on the closed end of the casket. His brothers let him swipe off the pointless decorations that laid on the box, and in one fluid motion, slammed the casket fully shut.

"Let's get this over with." He growled and with a single-arm, lifted the box over his head carefully to make sure his bottle wouldn't tip over.

His brothers nodded. Brick led the way back down the aisle not bothering to meet the wide eyes of the other guests. Boomer made up the rear, putting a stabilizing hand on the back of the casket to aid Butch, as they followed Brick out the door.

The ceremony hadn't been completed, but even if there were more words to be said no one had stopped them from leaving. Instead, as the young men passed, respectfully the rows stood and followed them out.

Generally, in Townsville, the funeral procession would loop around the city giving everyone a chance to pay their respects, but quite frankly, the brothers didn't see much of a reason for that. So instead, of hopping into a car, they instead cut across the street directly towards the Townsville Cemetery and the plot of land they would dump the body in.

The crowd kept a respectful distance away from the brothers as they made it to the freshly dug hole. There was no priest or anyone of authority that would say the last parting words. Most likely, that job had been begrudgingly bestowed upon them.

Together, the three of them, without a word, lowered the casket into the ground. When that was done, Butch squatted down and took back his bottle. When he stood up again, the three brothers stared down at their father's casket.

"This is it." Brick mumbled, "This is what has become of the great, late Mojo Jojo. A box in the ground."

Butch smirked, "And we were there, just one last time, to let him down. It's really come full circle."

"Yeah," Boomer snorted, "like, we've let him down both figuratively and literally."

Brick and Butch shared a look.

"Thanks for explaining the joke." Brick complained dryly, as Butch took a sip from his drink.

Boomer looked up from the ground, rubbing the back of his neck when he realized what he had done. Sheepishly, he smiled at the both of them, "Sorry."

Afterward, they again fell silent and continued to stare at the box below them. Eventually, Butch turned slightly to the crowd.

"You'd think this was some kind of show, not a funeral." He nodded over at the gaping, whispering crowd.

"What'd you expect?" Brick asked, not taking his eyes off the gravestone. Butch shrugged and took another quick sip from his bottle in thought.

"I guess, just something…" He trailed off lost.

"More?" Boomer supplied quietly and the other two nodded in agreement.

But the three of them had already known that no one was truly there for Mojo. No one ever had been.

"Well," Brick shrugged finally, "it's not done yet," and passed two shovels over to his brothers.

The three of them made quick work of the dirt and stood there, after they were done, sticking the shovels into the ground. Each brother observed their work and wondered how they were supposed to have felt now that their last and final job for Mojo had finally been completed.

Brick sighed, ignoring the eyes that still bored into their backs, and turned to his brothers, "I suppose we should say some words."

Butch shrugged and after Brick had gestured for his bottle, he handed it over.

Boomer also shrugged, it really didn't matter to him one way or another, "Sure, uh, you first?"

Brick took a very long drink from the bottle that they were now all sharing. After he wiped his mouth, he spoke honest and true to the gravestone, and he supposed, to the decaying body under it, "Mojo you weren't ever much to us, you could've been, but you weren't."

In the spur of the moment, he poured a shot onto the dirt, and then, passed the bottle over to Boomer.

Boomer shifted and scratched at his nose for a while. Brick had asked it before, but now Boomer was really thinking about it, what _did_ you say to an ape like Mojo?

He sighed and finally relaxed, "I guess, um, thanks for creating us and for pushing us away. I mean don't get me wrong, you fucked us up pretty bad Mojo, but I guess…uh, ya know, I'm not sorry we weren't the weapons you wanted us to be."

He too poured a shot onto the ground and passed the almost empty bottle back to Butch.

"Mojo…" Butch blew out a puff of air, he hadn't ever been one for words, "Uh, it wasn't swell, see ya in hell…"

"…ah fuck it, let's go drink this bastard away." He eventually scoffed finishing his speech and dumping the remaining liquid onto the ground. He threw the empty bottle down, before turning on his heels towards the entrance.

He looked back over at his brothers when they didn't immediately follow and gave them a lazy smile, "You two fucks coming or what?"

Boomer let out a short laugh and Brick smiled, as they both turned to follow their brother. Once again, the sea of people parted as they made their way through.

The three of them walked close together, their shoulder bumping together ever so often, and when they finally left the cemetery a quiet peace was shared between them. It truly was done. Mojo was actually dead. They walked away without looking back, but in the back of Boomer's mind, and maybe his brother's minds too, the ten-year-old in him wished there was a reason to, so they could stay with their father for just a little bit longer. But, honestly, there really wasn't.

So, none of them did.

**In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on. -**_**Robert Frost**_


End file.
